Reticent
by aposse
Summary: What she lacks in words she makes up with her actions.


**Reticent  
><strong>**Summary:** What she lacks in words she makes up with her actions.  
><strong>Note:<strong> This is my frist Rizzoli & Isles story, so if it seems out of character, please forgive me. I'm working on it!

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><p>Stepping out into the cold, she pulls the ends of her blazer over her chest, shivering as the wind shuts the car door. <em>You know.. your problem is.. that your heart rules your head.<em> She doesn't know what frightens her more. The memory of Hoyt hovering over her helpless form, flinging around the scapel as he says those words, or the meaning of the words themselves. Or perhaps it was the fact that a serial killer came to this realization before she did. Because he was right- she does lead with her heart; she's horrible at compartmentalizing and the thought alone of seperating something as intangible as her emotions makes her cringe. She's never been good with organizing, let alone handling her own feelings.

So it comes as a mystery to Jane why she did what she did.

The moment she pulled the trigger, a daughter not only lost her father, but also the trust in her friend. And when she looked down to find Maura's retreating form, she knew just what she'd done. She remembers calling her friend's name, a slew of apologies coinciding with her rushed steps, only to be warned off with a glare so painful the memory of it begins to overwhelm her.

She shakes her head to temporarily free herself from the guilt, knowing at some point in the night she'd have to wonder why her heart had been so selfish. The wind blows a heavy breeze past her and she shivers, cradling herself in her own arms as she stands outside Maura's home. _Her_ second home. Dark eyes wander into what she can make of through the window, no signs present that she was here. Jane sighs. Of course she wouldn't be here. Pressing her back against the white planks, she slides down slowly, counting the leaves on the ground instead of her mistakes.

When her patience runs short of the wind forcing her to restart her count, she moves onto the clouds above her, and before she can even become angry at the fact that there aren't clouds _or _enough distractions to distract her, she feels a heaviness over her eyes, and in an instant she's asleep. It isn't until two hours later that her instincts jerk her awake, numb hands already grabbing hold of her gun. And when her vision becomes clear and the rest of her senses come to, she realizes it's Maura.

Her hair is disheveled, her face is bare, her eyes are red, and she's rummaging through her purse as if Jane isn't even there. Jane watches carefully at the way she fumbles with her keys, and when she loses grip and they fall to the ground, she looks at them, hands balled into a fist before she tries to pick them up. Jane, though, acts fast and grabs them before Maura even bends her knees. She's on her feet now, holding out the right key for Maura to take. She doesn't move. She stares at the door, emitting a feeling so uncomfortable a perp would confess for a crime uncomitted just to escape it.

So she takes her chances and unlocks the door, leaving the key in the lock. Maura walks in without a word, leaving the door wide open with Jane alone. And as much as it hurts her, she understands. She understands the silence and she respects the struggle the woman has with giving a damn about her. It hurts, but the fact that she even gives a damn is more than enough. Because Maura just doesn't cut people out of her life; the woman tries a lot harder than most do to make a friendship work.

Jane pulls herself out of her thoughts as she shuffles in and closes the door. When she finally turns around after flipping the lock, she's face-to-face with the consequence of her actions.

"Maur-" she begins, only to be silenced by the sudden shift of emotion in the blonde's face.

"No." The word doesn't bring rejection, but a plea. "Please, Jane." When Maura cries, fear, embarassment and admittance are her usual emotions. Her head often bows down and her lips almost always tremble. So this - the way she tilts her head to the right, the way she closes her eyes and the way she takes in another breath - Jane knows it's different. "Please don't make it hard for me." And it's then Jane realizes she's not crying out of admittance or fear or embarassment, but out of confusion.

She's crying out of confusion and she's tired of feeling confused. So Jane nods, picks up the boots Maura's neglected and makes her way to the closet, hearing footsteps quietly follow behind her. When Jane is sure she's put the boots in their rightful place, she turns around to find Maura a few feet away from her, still as the air between them, staring blankly at her open drawer. Jane's hesitant at first, but she does it anyway. This is what friends are for.

_Would a friend shoot her friend's father?_

She quickly pushes the thought away. This is what _she_ is for, what _she_ is for _Maura_. Making sure to keep her distance, she pulls out a pair of pajamas (of course they'd be silk) and hands them to her. And when her friend doesn't but move, Jane becomes concerned. She knows how to handle someone out of control; she's been trained to react and act. What she's never been trained to do was... _this_. She knows how to empathize with victims, but with someone as close as Maura?

Foreign territory.

So it comes as a surprise to her when her hands guide Maura to the edge of the bed, pushing her down by the shoulders. It becomes even _more _of a surprise to Jane when she helps shrug the blazer off, pulls the top over hair that never uncurls and unzips the skirt more fitting than skin. But what surprises Jane the most is the feeling she gets.

A feeling more consuming than hunger, more raw than vulnerability, more overwhelming than every emotion combined. And like every other thought, she shoves this one down, away, out, _wherever_ as long as it isn't in her head. She dresses Maura quickly, forbiding her eyes to look anywhere below the neck.

Without much option, she looks her friend square in the face, immediately regretting the sudden bravery. She clasps her hands over Maura's knees, who at first hesitates to cover them but does anyways. That's when Jane feels it. For a gesture that usually conveys security and reassurance between them, this one feels frightened. Begging, almost. Jane catches Maura stare down to their hands then to the bed, and she nods in agreement, already aware of the request. She wants to tell her to not feel ashamed, because she'd do it anyway even if she didn't ask. Because she knows she is all Maura has and will probably always will have, and the fact that she's the one who caused the pain and is helping to relieve it is probably what confuses Maura the most. And her as well. But Jane keeps quiet. She knows the silence between them communicates more than the words she lacks.

Maura leads them into her bed, her hand slightly increasing its grip, like she's afraid Jane will leave. Jane won't, and she squeezes back to tell her that she's not. They slip under the covers and as she fidgets with her free hand, thumb brushing over the scar in her palm, she feels Maura's stop it. In the dimly lit room their eyes meet, and for the entirety of the night, Jane does nothing but watch her friend grieve through tears.

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><p><strong>The End?<br>**This can either stand as a one-shot or become multi-chapter. Since there's an introduction of Jane's "feelings" it could turn into a romance, which I would love but am not there yet character-wise. I have a vague idea where this could go if I continue to pursue it, but for now, I hope you enjoyed my take on this! Thank-you so much for reading and please let me know what you think!


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